The Entropy School
by BloodofthePen
Summary: Before the Hero of Ferelden became a Warden, she was a Circle apprentice trying to understand her nature, finding an unlikely friend in a clumsy human. These memories keep her awake in camp sometimes, thinking of a friend she's sure is long gone-and it might even be her fault.
1. Nine

The first time Minas tried to escape the Tower, she had only just arrived. One week of missing her mother and father instead of sleeping, lying among the other apprentices, many about her age, eyes on the dark, arched stone above. It was so different from the wooden beams and thatch and welcoming stars outside her window. Snores replaced her mother's nightly songs, and the silver moon could no longer be seen. All was dark and grey in the night. She decided she did not like the Circle, even though they promised to teach her to be safe with her magic.

Safe. Minas had liked the sound of safe; she only left her family because they thought she was dangerous. She didn't want to hurt anybody.

But now she wanted her mother even more. She missed her father's stories of Denerim and her mother's Dalish legends. There weren't many elves here. She wanted to go home; if she promised to be careful, maybe mamae wouldn't send her back to the big, grey tower.

When she slipped out of bed, she wanted the guards with their metal clothes and frowning faces to be asleep—she desperately wished they would sleep as she passed. Minas was clever enough to know that things happened sometimes because she wanted them to.

So, the guards slept, and she pushed the heavy doors open just enough to slip through.

The elfling got as far as the docks before they caught her, joyed at the moon's sliver tendrils dancing over the water, the stars winking above. She didn't know how to swim, and the Templars knew the effects of magic when they woke: she didn't fight them when they told her to come back, and they took her past the apprentices' rooms, up the stairs, to a little room with a desk and books. She just wanted to go home.

The First Enchanter and the leader of the big, metal humans were both bearded men with serious eyes. The Enchanter only looked disappointed, a little sad, but the metal one had eyes as hard as his clothes and as grey as the walls.

"If you do this again child, we will have to put you in solitary—there you will be all alone," the Enchanter said. Enchanter meant mage. Mage. He was like her, and he seemed sad. She didn't want to be sad when she got old like that. He knelt down beside her. "I know you miss your family, but you'll have friends here. You like your lessons, don't you?"

She nodded. Magic was even better when she knew how to make it right.

"I know you don't want to be alone."

She nodded again. Alone, she sometimes heard things. Alone, she still wouldn't have mamae.

"I know it doesn't feel like it now, but you're not alone here—I promise." He offered a little smile.

The big one crossed his arms. "But you'll find yourself that way if you try such a stunt again—magic on the Templars! Magic is meant to _serve_, not to control others as pleases you!"

Minas cast her eyes to the floor. He smelled of metal and electricity and she didn't like him.

"Greagoir, she's barely nine! No one was hurt, and you know as well as I it wasn't an intentionally woven spell. And it will not happen again, will it?"

The grey stone of the floor kept her attention as she shook her head. "I'm sorry." She didn't want to be alone and she didn't want to hurt anyone. She wanted to go home.

"Good." The mage rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Here, child—we'll walk you back to the dormitory and in the morning, you can meet some friends. There are even a few elves here to keep you from feeling too homesick—would you like that?"

She nodded, then furrowed her brow. "But mamae… I want to talk to mamae."

The hard lines around the big human's mouth softened at that. He sighed. "Can you write?"

"A little…" She recalled her father addressing the human that came to take her away. He always said it was important to be polite—especially to guards and humans with power. Cause trouble and you'll get trouble, that's what he said. "…serah."

He seemed to approve of that. "Write a letter. I cannot send it for you, but if you take it to the chapel and pray for your family to the Maker, you may find comfort."

"Thank you, serah, but… I've never prayed to your Maker before."

"He is not simply my Maker—the Maker has made all the world, and is yours as well as mine. You need not worry—one of the Sisters can teach you to pray if you are unsure." He did not smile like Irving, but his words were… nice. If this Maker could help, she could learn to pray to him like Mythal. She wondered if it would be very different.

The mage offered his hand, kind, amber eyes smiling, and Minas took it. "We'll get you to bed. In the morning, there's someone I'd have you meet."

* * *

This 'someone' was another human, and not her age, and not as old as mamae, and certainly not as old as the First Enchanter.

Later, she would learn that this blond human with bright eyes and a clever turn to his lips was placed as her companion for the week as a means of control. Minas could remember being fifteen years old and talking with him about it; learning that they were paired so that neither of them would attempt escape again was troubling, but not as difficult as learning that Irving and Greagoir threatened to punish _her_ with solitary as well as him if he attempted to escape while she was in his charge.

But in this memory, she is nine years old, armed only with the knowledge that the First Enchanter set aside a companion for her.

They stood in one of the practice rooms, where Irving left them to stare at one another. A tall, lanky human with gold hair that brushed his chin and a tiny elf, brown hair loose down her back.

"So… you're Minas, then." He'd just been told. They'd both been introduced.

She nodded. "You're Anders."

He sighed. "Yeah. Well, ah—welcome to the Circle, then?"

"Thank you. I've been here for a week."

"Uh-huh. And you already tried to escape… pretty impr—er—"

Her remorse sprang more from the threat of punishment than actually being _sorry_, and she knew it. "I won't do it again." Well, maybe she was sorry for the magic on the guards.

The human bit his lip. "…Right." He cleared his throat, swinging wiry arms. The silk of his robes whispered in the near-silence. Chatter from apprentices could be heard down the hall, and the ever-present clink of metal. "So, you're an elf, then."

She nodded. "You're a human."

"I'm… wait…" He reached his fingers up and touched the rounded tips of his ears. He gasped. "Oh, Maker! All this time I thought…"

Minas giggled. "Maybe you just lost them. I can help you look."

He cracked a crooked grin. "We can start in the library."

Anders' smile was contagious, if seldom seen, and Minas decided the library was a grand place with a kind guide. Or it would be, when she learned how to read better. Anders was always patient as she sounded out the words on the covers, and never rushed her when she got sidetracked while learning how the books were organized.

Eventually, the scent of leather and paper and electric traces of lyrium began to feel like home.


	2. Nine-and-then-Some

The library was quiet, and the quiet was something little Minas came to appreciate when she was surrounded each day by chattering, complaining, snoring apprentices, taught by both droning and sharp enchanters how to properly use magic. The only sounds in the library were the occasional, low whisper, a muttering or two from Senior Enchanter Sweeney, and the crisp, gentle turn of pages smelling of ink and paper and leather and faint, spicy traces of magic.

She was examining the tomes on one of the lowest shelves, tucked back in a corridor of bookcases when she found herself bowled over onto stone and carpet in a tangle of too-large robes.

"Oh—oof—sorry, sorry, I'm sorry."

It took a little effort to right herself, to wind his foot out of the hem of her robe, to pull her hair out of the catch on his belt, but soon enough, she was face-to-face with a scruffy boy about her age, all big, dark, eyes and tangled black hair—another human.

"Sorry," he said again, and neither stood, just sat among the books. "I didn't see you—I should have—I was busy—" He glanced around and stood. He found what he was looking for on the floor behind her, giving a relieved sigh. He offered her a hand. "I was reading. And I didn't—I'm sorry."

Minas shrugged. "It's okay. You don't have to say sorry so many times."

"Sorry."

She shook her head and picked up the fallen tome. "Il-lu-sion Magics," she read.

The boy nodded. "Like light and stuff."

"Do you like it?"

He nodded hard, black hair brushing his cheeks. "Oh, yes! I haven't done any, but it's interesting. Not that I know what everything means."

"How old are you?"

"Eleven," he said proudly. "Or, I will be soon, I think. I'm not sure what day my birthday is."

"I'm nine. A little more than nine," she offered. "Almost ten. I was looking for stories."

He grinned at that. A rather excited human, he was. "I know where there are some good ones—all about knights and battles and some about elves, too, and their magic."

She offered her hand in a human gesture. "I'm Minas," she said.

"Oh." He took her hand and shook it. "My name is Jowan; it's nice to meet you. I think I've seen you before, in the quarters. You're sort of new?"

"Yes, I've been here for a few months." She tangled her fingers in the sleeves of her robe. "Where are the books?"

"Oh! Sorry—over here…"

They were all he promised. Minas didn't consider leaving the tower for some time after that—when she did see her mother again, she could bring new stories. Her parents would be proud of that.

And now, she didn't feel _quite_ so alone.


	3. Twelve

The second time Minas tried to escape the Tower, it was an accident of sorts. She had been tasked with helping Enchanter Torrin in loading and unloading the monthly trade.

It was the first time she had been allowed outside.

The sunlight glittered in a thousand golden shards across the surface of the lake and the morning breeze stirred her hair—back then, she still wore it loose, and it whipped in little strands around her shoulders. The air smelled of water and grass and fish and electric traces of lyrium.

The boat that brought the supplies was much larger than the one that ferried her across three years prior. This one had sails as well as oars, and smelled of wood and sweat. There seemed to be only two men aboard, moving crates from the dock to the island, and three other apprentices moved the crates and baskets indoors. It wasn't a _ship_ like she had read about, but it was certainly close enough to stir something in her heart.

By holy Andraste, Mythal, and Andruil, it was _beautiful_.

Minas worked quickly, speedily dropping the items inside so she could rush back through the great doors and turn her face to the bright sky. The breeze tickled and whistled past the tips of her ears, and she was quite sure it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.

"Ay, elf!"

She turned her eyes to one of the bronze-skinned humans, blinking the sunspots out of her vision. Her stomach dropped. "Yes, messare?"

He chuckled. "Nah, I'm just Marcus. Mind giving us a hand with this last one? Cain is a little afraid to touch it—something magic for ya'll to study."

"Of course, Marcus." She smiled. "My name is Minas," she told him as she stepped across the plank ,careful not to catch her robes on the wood. When he'd addressed her as 'elf,' she'd been worried, but…

"Good to meet yah, Miss Minas. The last box is right here…"

It was an ordinary-looking crate, though Minas could feel a trembling hum from within; she could see no sign that Marcus could feel it as well when they lifted it together to the dock. There were three apprentices at the ready to take it to the Tower, guided by Enchanter Torrin. She began helping the sailors move the empty crates back onto the deck.

One of them was just the right size for her to clamber into, there on the deck of the little ship. If no one noticed she was missing…

The breeze stirred Minas' hair. It air was sweet and wet. Was this not what _everyone_ sought? Anders, each time he escaped, only to be dragged back by Templars? The Senior Mages as they clambered for assignments, for leave to continue their research? Students that went into the healing arts, even if they had no aptitude, hoping to be sent to a clinic? The famers in her village who awoke before dawn to watch the sun rise over their fields? The Templars looking forward to combat training under the open sky?

She glanced around. The others were distracted, the sailors speaking with the Enchanter.

Minas clambered into the crate, legs tucked beneath her. A good fit. It was stuffy, but the timber smelled new, of sap and lake-water. She dragged the lid overhead and found herself in semi-darkness, sunlight glowing through the slats. The boat turned and rolled gently beneath her.

She wondered if she would notice when they began sailing—the boat seemed to be moving quite a lot now—perhaps there would be no difference? Minas tried to quell the excitement building in the pit of her stomach, lest it manifest physically. The last thing she needed was to be found out because she was throwing off sparks.

She could hear a lot of shuffling outside. Perhaps they were preparing to depart? Setting the rigging and finding the wind? Minas imagined climbing out of the crate in the dead of night at the next dock, the moon bright on the water, the breeze ruffling her hair again. Jowan would—

Minas frowned. What of Jowan? She would disappear and he would not know what became of her. _He'd understand_, she thought. _He'll have a chance._

She imagined catching sight of Jowan in a market, a little taller, just as disheveled as she remembered him. Minas would creep up behind her old friend, tug on the back of his tunic and grin when he spun around "Just as good as the stories, isn't it?" she would say. They'd laugh and embrace and she'd take him to the wilds to meet the Dalish clan she'd befriended, take him to visit her parents, and they'd find the grand library of Orlais, get into trouble with the Antivan Crows, venture—

The lid of her crate was gone. Minas squinted against the sunlight.

Her eyes finally focused on the livid visage of Enchanter Torrin.

"_Surana!_" he snapped. "Out!"

Cheeks reddening, Minas obeyed, catching her robe on the rate's planks and tumbling to the sun-warmed deck. Both the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander were there, frowning. Minas' heart sank. She'd never been so embarrassed.

* * *

They did put her solitary this time, as threatened.

It was not terrible, at first. Minas' room was small—she could cross it in ten paces (and her stride was not large, at twelve years of age)—and included a cot, a scratchy carpet of blue and grey embroidery, and no windows. It was the last detail that bothered her the most during the first two days. Nothing but dull, grey stone every time she turned. The room was curved, so she knew that opposite the door was the outside wall of the tower—the room had been constructed this way on purpose. It _could_ have had a window.

Somehow, that knowledge made it worse.

Food came three times a day through a slot in the bottom of the door, and it was the only thing that gave her any sense of time. She never saw the person who brought the food, and often did not notice the food had come until the flap was already firmly closed. It was enough to question whether a _person_ was assigned to bring the food at all.

The third day, the real trouble began. (Or, close to the third day? Everything seemed like ages. She'd had six meals and slept twice, anyway). More than a simple window, Minas missed her books. A book would have given her a _view_.

She knew that was exactly why they would not provide her even the simplest, most boring text on magical theory. There were no books for the same reason there were no windows. It would have been a comfort, a distraction when she was supposed to "meditate on the dangers of magic and the word of Andraste." She couldn't even practice minor magics to pass the time—the room closed around her like some dark void, a sucking hole within a circle of runes that rendered magic useless, effectively exterminating any trace of connection to the Fade within the space—cold and empty without the touch of magic to comfort her. Minas felt naked without it. The crawling void was like an itch inside her skin.

Minas thought about Anders again, and Jowan. Had they told Jowan what she'd done, where she was? Rumor would reach him. How did Anders keep himself company up here? How many times had he been given this punishment?

She was certain she did not like it at _all_ as she curled up on the stiff cot and tried to reach a chilling, dreamless sleep, her stomach turning in anticipation of either an unconscious grasp at the darkness as she slept, or dull, grey stone as she lay awake.

The fifth day marked the end of her sentence. The First Enchanter and Knight-Commander found Minas curled on the prickly rug, tracing an aimless pattern in the sparse embroidery with her finger.

She was later told that it took three attempts to get her to acknowledge their voices.

* * *

"_What were you thinking?_"

But Minas just smiled and caught Jowan in a crushing hug. He stiffened, but did not struggle.

"Minas—_why?_"

The elf hugged him tighter in response, so he sighed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I understand why, but _why would you leave me here alone?_"

When her tears began to soak through the shoulder of his robe, Jowan asked her no more.


	4. Thirteen

Minas could hear only the occasional clink of the guard's armor outside, the fitful turning of the apprentices around her, the occasional heavy snore. She stared at the arched ceiling, the grey stone crisscrossed with shadows familiar. The only thing that kept the layers of unyielding brick from being stifling was the fact that it rested so high above, beyond her reach, and would remain so even when she was grown.

It still blocked out the stars.

The elfling reached above her head, between the slats in the headboard, over the space between the beds, and ruffled her friend's dark hair.

"Jowan. Jowan, are you awake?" Her voice barely carried across the pillow. Sometimes, even surrounded by fifty familiar faces, it was possible to feel more alone than in solitary. If he wasn't—

"Yeah."

The elf smiled, but did not raise her head. Instead, Minas rolled onto her stomach and stretched her hand a little further to find his.

"Do you remember your family?"

A soft huff. "Why?"

"I was thinking… if you don't want to talk about it, that's okay."

She could make out little in the darkness between the bars of the headboard, just the vague tuft of hair and his nose pointing up toward the ceiling. "It's… not good. Do you remember yours?"

"Yeah." She pressed her cheek to her pillow. "It's not… really good. But I miss them."

"I don't miss mine."

Minas recognized the strain in his voice and whispered again. Something nicer. Maybe. "Do you remember the first time you did magic? Well—and knew what it was."

"I used to glow a lot."

Minas stifled her giggle in the pillow.

"What? It's not funny—"

A grumbling snort from the bed behind his. They froze.

After a moment, the gentle breathing resumed and Minas released the breath she'd been holding softly.

Jowan's voice almost couldn't be heard now, an agitated whisper: "It's not funny—I couldn't make it stop. My mother used to get angry—really angry."

"I'm sorry." She squeezed his fingers gently.

They lay in silence a while, until Jowan sighed. "What about you?"

"I got mad at one of the boys in the village and accidentally set him on fire."

That earned a chuckle. "I'm sure he deserved it."

"I don't really remember… I might've started it. But he was okay—it just singed his tunic a little. I remember the second time better."

"What happened?"

Minas pursed her lips, thumb absently finding secure purchase in her best friend's hand. "I… killed some grass when I fell out of the tree in the back yard. They said I drew the… life out of it. They said I should've been scraped or broken a bone and I stole the life from the grass and fixed myself—I _killed _it." Old tears pricked her eyes, but the elf swallowed, pushing the knot out of her throat." My parents decided I was dangerous after that."

Jowan was silent and Minas closed her eyes tight. Why did she tell him? What if—Her fingers tightened reflexively, lest he let go.

But he didn't.

"Minas… that sounds like…" She almost did not hear the next words, but she would know them even if he did not speak. "Blood magic."

"I know." She buried her face in the pillow, slackened her grip to give him opportunity, shame dropping her stomach down to her feet.

He did not let go. "Maybe you could talk to the First Enchanter about it?"

"He said it wasn't blood magic, but he didn't want to talk to me about what it was. I can't even go to the library if I don't know…"

"Minas, there are other Senior Enchanters, right? You can talk to them, and if Irving said it's not blood magic, I believe that."

A couple of tears did fall at that, and Minas suddenly felt quite silly.

"I'm afraid to ask," she admitted.

"I can go with you," Jowan suggested, returning the gesture she'd given earlier, gently squeezing her hand. "Senior Enchanter Wynne is really nice… well, pretty nice. If she can't help you, we'll find somebody else."

"You'd… do that?"

She could almost hear his sheepish smile. "I've never really had one before, but I think that's what friends do."


End file.
